What City Boys Don't Know
by Annie Tatterton
Summary: So I ship counties...Like I ship them so hard its not even funny but I swear its cute and id you read this you'll love it! Rivally based off the accutal rivallry between the two neighboring counties Whitfield and Murray. Whitley Shaw Whitfiled. Johnny Adair Murray. The story jumps around a bit, - PLEASE READ! COMMENTS AND CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM WELCOME! 3


What City Boys Don't Know

* * *

It's fucking cold. It's fucking cold and I'm fucking wet. I'm fucking cold, I'm fucking wet and I'm fucking tired. I don't need this shit.

_Except I__** do**__._

* * *

**-The rain begins-**

The mud thickens with the heavy downpour and mud-slicked shoes scramble to find purchase. Red clay stains worn jerseys and green streaks slide downward from kneecaps. The shriek of the referee's whistle carries across the small stadium making the dog-pile still to simply staggering breaths.

"GET OFF HIM!" A woman's frantic screaming makes both the teams scan the sidelines for the source. "Whitley!" She shouts in a panicked voice as her husband restrains her with one hand and uses the other to point the referee toward the mess of muddy teenagers. Coaches and assistants run from both sides of the field to the pile and pull the boys off each other two at a time.

Dual-harmony groans leak out from the underneath of the group making the effort to remove the heavy bodies kick-up a notch. Finally the there are only two boys left in what used to be a large mass. The boy on top has his body arched like a bridge over the one beneath him. A hard, wet cough leaves the teen's mouth and what looks to be blood is spat on the ground as coaches help the two to their feet.

"Whitley!" The mother screams, tearing across the field to where her son is being supported on one arm by his coach. "Whitley, baby, are you okay? Where does it hurt, honey?" She worries pushing dark sweat matted hair away from the boy's childlike face.

"I'm fine, mom!" Whitley snaps shoving her hand away and continuing to limp back to the bench. Still on the fifty-yard line the other boy is heaving up a mixture of blood and the contents of his stomach. Hands fall soothingly on his back but are harshly shaken off.

"Johhny? Adair you alright, kid?" The coach probes gripping the youth's shoulder harshly in an effort to catch his eyes. "Shit…"The man's voice drops to a whisper as pain-filled, bloodshot eyes glare up into his own menacingly.

"Get me up." The boy growls pressing his palms against the wet ground to push himself up. When no one moves to help him the teen's jaw clenches and using his knees for leverage he pushes himself unsteadily to his feet. "Somebody gonna fuckin' help me or ya just gonna stand around?" He snaps glaring at his gawking teammates. Snapped out their trance by the boy's harsh tone a few boys rush forward to help the boy get to bench where the medic is waiting.

Whitley flinches slightly as the coach's assistant dabs an alcohol soaked cotton ball along the cuts on his face. "You're lucky you know." The young man mumbles, rinsing the mud from the small gashes that teen suffered.

"What?" The teen tenses as the assistant swipes the cotton across a gash above his eye.

"You coulda done a lot worse than couple of bruises and cuts." The man replies in a hushed tone. One glance at the boy's worried mother who had just barely allowed herself to be escorted back to her seat told him Mrs. Shaw didn't believe the same.

"What's that supposed to mean?" The youth grumbles sticking his knee out for the man to wrap.

"It means," The man scrubs at a scabbed over cut with a little more vigor than necessary causing the boy to yelp. "That you owe that Murray boy at least a thank you."

"Fuck that!"

The small crowd gathered around the home team's bench let out a collective gasp as the back of number 27's jersey is cut away revealing a gruesome canvas of purples, reds and yellows. "Holy shit Johnny.." A team mate breaths. " You look like a fuckin' 3rd grade art project."

"Tch. It's not that bad. Doesn't even hurt." Johnny lies through clenched teeth. The medic hums somewhat suspiciously and hold's the teen's chin in one hand while bringing a flashlight out his pocket with the other.

"Follow the light." The medic orders and brown eyes slowly open and drag from left to right, then up and down and right to left. The hand holding the boy's chin moves away and he lets his head sag forward as the medic whispers none too quietly to the coach.

"He's got a least a minor concussion and most likely at least two broken ribs, along with some pretty nasty contusions covering the majority of his back." The man pauses before leaning in to actually whisper to the coach. "He won't be able to go back in tonight." The coach takes this information fairly well and within a moment claps his hands together.

"Alright, Johnson you'll go in for Adair. Everyone else stays the same." The man throws a glance at the teen sprawled across the bench on his stomach. "Beckie!" The coach's wife hurries down from her seat and to his side at his cry. "Can you get Adair to the hospital for me? And call his parents if you can get ahold of 'em."

* * *

**-Before the fall-**

"Fuck you, Shaw" The younger teen bites out, struggling underneath the heavier body crushing his own.

"Nah, I don't swing like, Adair. I'm sure one of you cousins would be happy to oblige though." The older boy chuckles and shifts his weight to fall on his rival's lower back. "Give up?"

"Shove off, _Whitley._" Johnny snarls, pushing himself up with his arms, successfully knocking his foe off of him and onto the ground.

"Oooh, getting tough now Johnny-boy?" The darker haired teen grins getting to his feet and dusting himself off. Suddenly the boy on the ground launches himself at the Whitfield county boy, slamming into his stomach and throwing both boys back to the ground.

"You were saying, dickwad?" Johnny smirks, straddling the elder boy's waist and pinning his wrists to the dirt while he was still recovering from shock. When blue eyes finally swing up to meet brown there's mirth hidden behind the anger.

"Having fun there, homo?" Whit asks, watching the other boy's eyes glaze with confusion until he snaps his hips upward against the Adair boy's. Pink stains the younger boy's cheeks and anger boils upward inside him.

"I think YOU'RE the one enjoying this position too much, city slicker." Johnny drawls pushing the other boy's harder against the dirt as he leans to do so. Brown eyes linger on blue before sliding down to Whit's mouth as he grumbles something that doesn't reach the younger.

"Alright whatever Johnny. You win, let me up." The pinned teen whines twisting against the other in an attempt to roll him off.

"Hey Whitley…" Johnny stares down at his captive with a guarded expression and just as his mouth opens to answer the other boy's mouth is on Whit's. Cerulean eyes widen into moons as brown close tightly. Soft lips move against his own still ones stirring Whit into action. Teeth dig into Shaw's bottom lip and a growl leaves the older boy as he resolves not to let his younger rival best him.

With one hard shove Whitely pushes Johnny off his person. A quiet, almost nonexistent whine leaves a now deserted pair of lips but within the moment Whit's lips are pressing insistently against them. Brown eyes snap open wide as one hand secures his wrist and another slips underneath the loose fabric of his shirt.

"W-whit." Johnny pants out unsteadily. Whit takes the opportunity to seize the now open mouth before him. Tongues brush each other sloppily as the pair battles for dominance from the start. A startled yelp leaves Whit as he pulls away to glare at his counterpart.

"You bit me!" The older teen accuses. Johnny's cocky smile bothers Whitley to no end and as the younger's tongue swipes across his lips he moves to capture his mouth once again. Teeth scrap lips and practiced tongues move against each other in heat dance.

A soft laugh leaves Johnny as their two foreheads collide rather roughly and Whit's expression softens, his low chuckling helping to create a two-tone harmony.

"You're a fucking idiot." Whit sighs, rolling over so that his slighter companion is sprawled atop him.

"Pfft, me? Uh, no I think it was you who thought it was a good idea to head-butt me." Johnny argues twisting his fingers in the other boy's dark locks. Arms locked around his back tighten and the Adair boy lets loose a soft whine.

"Why'd you have to fuck us up, Johnny?' Whit's voice is distant, like he's not completely there. Johnny tenses and he looks up to meet the empty gaze of his rival.

"What'd you mean by that, Shaw? I didn't hear you complaining when you kissed me back." The younger boy writhes uncomfortably now and strains to pull away from the elder. Without another word Whitley releases his grasp on the slighter teen and watches him stand and readjust himself.

"It doesn't mean anything." Whitley's voice is cold, hard and closed off. The sudden harshness of the statement makes Johnny freeze.

"W-What'd you say?" Johnny's eyes are on him now, muddy orbs daring him to repeat what he said. Form his spot in the dirt Whitley lets out a tired sigh and looks up at his counterpart with a hard expression to match his tone.

"I said it doesn't mean anything, Adair." Whit gets to his feet and brushes what dirt he can from his clothing. "Just because I kissed you back doesn't mean anything. I don't like you." His eyes drop and won't meet Johnny's as he breaths the last sentence. A sharp movement catches Whitley's eye too late and a fist colliding with his cheek makes a hard whack and leaves his head spinning a little as he stumbles backwards.

"Y-yeah, well I don't like you either, Whit. I just wanted to see if you'd chicken out." Johnny's voice drops at then end but his glare and the impact his fist had with Whitley's face leave none of his feelings to the imagination. The soft sound Johnny's sneakers smacking against the ground alerts the other to his departure and under his breath the teen whispers, just loud enough that he knows the other will catch it. "Fuck you, and your pride."


End file.
